the rose of kiev

Let me tell you the story of the pictures. My digital camera is a hand-me-down. I have no problem with that - at least 50% of my wardrobe came from the thrift store and I'll brag about it whenever given the chance. The only time I have problems with it is when it shows its age. See, my little Canon Powershot S110 first came out in 2001, so my baby is six years old. And sometimes she can't help but show the stretch marks and crow's feet. I deliberately brought the software and connector cable for my camera down to Florida with me, having every intention of unloading my pictures onto the internet as soon as my memory card filled up. Which doesn't take long, because it's only got memory enough for 60 snapshots. So here I am, half-way through my vacation with no memory left for the second half, and naturally I try to unload the camera. Well, an hour later, I realize it can't be done. I brought the wrong disc and it took an hour to just figure that out. Dashing off w...

There was something special about the past two days. Last night I was running late on the way to a graduation party in Westerville with Dana after a quick fuel-up and some beef jerky. It was a beautiful June evening and we had Barenaked Ladies cranked up, and as I gasped at the sight of the sparkling water in the dam before us, Dana shouted "DETOUR!" and took a sharp left into the dam park's parking lot. Walking to the near edge of the construction, we looked down in awe at the monstrous stream of water gushing from the concrete side into a calm shallow pool with tiny herons floating in it. Walking back, I glanced to the side of the path on the other side of the guard rails and saw hundreds of little wild daisies. And since daisies are my favorite flowers, I went scrambling over the railing to pick some, skirt and heels and everything. Dana followed me over, and as I plucked a blade of grass to tie around my bouquet she leaned against the guard rail and began to make a d...

I've started the good habit of getting outside and going for a jog every other morning, and boy can I tell you what a world of difference it makes for the rest of my day. In using more energy early in the day, for some reason I feel like I have more of it later in the evening. I love it. Since I took my last final and the Red Cross sucked out a pint of my blood yesterday, I just went for a walk this morning. And every morning I realize how much I love where I live, especially because every street is drenched with the signs of summer. Crossing a bridge on Indianola I noticed the steps that go down into Glen Echo park and, heck I don't have anything to do today, so on a whim I went down, away from the traffic and the early humidity. Wow. The things God makes for us. Dark green light was everywhere as the sun filtered through the leaves onto the gravel path and I was overwhelmed with that summer morning scent - you know, that sweet smell of evaporating dew and cool bark? Immediate...

I think I know part of why I haven't been writing lately. And it's going to sound like a lame excuse - probably because that's exactly what it is. While I'm on the internet often enough to write something, I choose not to because I can't think of what I want to write. I want to write something that was important or funny to me, an anecdote that has a good ending. But I don't feel like my stories have endings - I feel like I'm in the middle of all of them. I could tell you about how the summer, AKA shorts season, has made me want to swear an oath of pants for the rest of my life. I'll get questionable compliments from middle-aged balding men who saw me walk to work in said shorts and have this smile on that just assures me oh-so-sweetly that they're thinking of me in those shorts right at that moment. Or Lenny who rides the bus the same time as me on Thursdays and begins every conversation with questions about my workout routine, until he shows me his...